


Awakening

by eastern_wind



Series: The Darkest Hour [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, How convenient, POV First Person, Prequel, Solas wakes up to a brand new world, Sulannan Clan, Tau Sulannan, and they basically worship Fen'Harel, someone gotta show him around, this is gonna be a really loooooooong series, won't be happy with all this, yeah I made them up, you'll get to know them later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 20:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13819266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastern_wind/pseuds/eastern_wind
Summary: The Sulahn'nan clan isn't one of the most respectable even among Dalish. For many centuries its members have been worshiping the Dread Wolf and keeping the legend that Fen'Harel will one day return to elves to restore the former greatness of Elvhehan.When Keeper's apprentice tells his elder sister about a nightmare that has been haunting him for several nights already, the events take an unusual turn for Tau Sulahn'nan.In the end, someone would have to help Solas settle in this strange world that became so alien to him.





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Пробуждение](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810461) by [eastern_wind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastern_wind/pseuds/eastern_wind). 



> One of the introductory parts of the "Darkest Hour" series, which will cover events from the beginning of the Dragon Age to the end of its first half.
> 
> Comments, ideas and kudos are highly appreciated :)

The night has already covered the forest with its dark veil generously sprinkled with dull unreachable stars, so I take one arrow from the quiver, testing its tip for sharpness. The Keeper says our camp is far enough from shemlen roads so we don't have to hurry and leave, but I cannot let myself take it easy. Shems are unpredictable: today they simply crawl around their anthill villages, but if tomorrow some fool gets lost in the trees and stumbles upon the camp, he will come back with more men armed with torches and hayforks than we can fight off easily. 

Other clanmates, especially younger ones, may think I'm too suspicious towards humans, but I know better. I have nothing to like them for, because they've always brought us only problems and death, nothing else.

Trying to break away from unpleasant childhood memories of wandering through the most forgotten roads of Free Marches, trying to run from the shemlen mercenary bands that had been looking for my father, Ilen, and of what they had done to him in revenge for killing their thief, I look out into the forest and catch a glimpse of huntresses Maven. She is silently sneaking out of the woods and into the campsite, followed by not so silent group of teenagers, clumsily plodding behind her and constantly tripping over the thick roots that stick out from the uneven dark ground. Upon seeing me near the fire, a bright gold-haired boy in a thin grey tunic and brown breeches leaves the group and sits on the opposite side of the fire pit not looking me in the eyes. 

 

“Bad day?” I ask more for the appearance’s sake, because I can read everything from his face without any words.

"Maven wanted us to catch a nug!" My younger brother snaps immediately with hands on his hips. He looks hilarious, but, as the Keeper always says, it does no good to laugh at the youth. “With bare hands only! Nug! As if you’d manage to do something like that!”

His outrage, however, is short lived and subsides as quickly as it had appeared. Lyndel sits back, hugging his scraped knees to his chest, and looks into the fire as if trying to find there a clue to the mystery that has been given to him by a stern teacher. I just shake my head, grinning. These moments of familiar banter remind me of my own childhood so much. If only father was alive to see us now… Still, he is not and who knows if I’d have Lyndel and Revas were he with us, so there’s no need to dwell on the things that I can’t change.

“I’ll beat it, just you wait!” The boy is only twelve and he only started to comprehend Vir Adalen. He still has a lot to learn.

The pictures from childhood are a torrential storm before my eyes, the days when mother taught me and my peers to hunt in the same way, demanding to catch the nug without alerting it. How long did it take us before our steps acquired the necessary softness and our bodies became flexible enough and began unconsciously choose the paths, which could be passed without a sound? Weeks? Months? It was so long ago, what year it was by shemlen calendar, 9:07? It’s hard to believe now that nearly three decades have already passed since then...

Looking at the reflection of the moon in the softly gleaming river, I get up, brushing off my trousers from the grass that got stuck in the wrinkles, and put the arrow back into the quiver. The night had long since fell upon us and soon the camp will quiet down completely, lulled by the sounds of the forest and the whisper of the wind in the scarlet canvas of the aravel sails. The watchmen have already taken their posts, but they are still too close to the clan's camp for my peace of mind and the noise of the river can easily drown out the steps of uninvited guests, so I check the string and bow and, finally prepared to start my own watch, answer my sulking brother,

“Maven is not the first one who uses this trick, lethallin. Every member of our clan for many generations has learned to make no chaos and unite with the forest just like this.” The boy’s smile is crooked, but no longer indignant. Having checked how easily a small dagger comes out of the scabbard, I gently push my kindred in the side with my knee. “Go to sleep, it’s too late already.”

“I’ll have nightmares again.” He shakes his head, not taking his eyes off the fire.

“Then stop retelling horror stories to each other before sleep.” I can’t help but taunt him a little and Lyndel finally turns away from the fire to fix me with a reproachful stare, in which I clearly can read something along the lines of “like you’ve never been twelve.”

“These’re different, Tau. I’d better dream of those burning sylvans again, but this time they’re different, I swear! It’s just the ancient crypt, which we’ve found a week ago deep in the forest. I enter and there’s a black wolf inside, looking at me with six red eyes and then I hear this strange voice right in my mind,” he folds his hands in a mouthpiece and whispers, making his thin voice sound like hissing of a snake, “Din’Anshiral. Tel’Abelas. In revas var sulevin. Ma uthenera ten...  I don’t even get a half of it!”

I freeze, feeling the hair move on the back of my neck and a cold drop of sweat slowly drips down my back. My younger brother is yet to learn the way of Sulahn'nan to its fullest and may not know what he said, but I do. And it scares the crap out of me. “Our purpose is freedom. Wake me from my endless dream”, just like old legend says. 

I strap the bow back and grab Lyndel by the collar, putting him up on his feet. Violet-gray eyes look at me with surprise, but the boy does not resist when I almost drag him to the aravel of the First standing at the very edge of the water.

"Revas, you must hear this!" 

While the mage climbs out of his living space and intently listens to our younger brother's confused retelling, I watch him tensely. The hands of the First convulsively squeeze the staff so tight that his fingers whiten, and in his eyes I see that he, too, remembers the prophecy that was passed down from generation to generation word for word and has been told to us more than twenty years ago by our grandfather, the Keeper of the Sulahn'nan clan.

“In the ruins of former glory the Dread Wolf awakens from eternal sleep to lead those, who have not turned away from him, to the true path of elvhen. Freedom is our destiny. Wake me up from eternal sleep.”

Centuries later, we Sulahn'nan have not forgotten with whom our loyalty lies and even though it made our clan almost an outcast among the other Dalish, we honour Fen’Harel not out of fear of his anger, but as our protector.

"So where you say is this crypt?" Revas asks the teenager in a hushed voice, already starting to plait his long white hair in a braid. Lyndel, surprised by such a reaction, points with his finger to the east, and, apparently, is preparing to finally burst out with a series of questions that tormented him these past days, but the mage only slaps him on the shoulder and commands, “Stay by the fire, Tau and I will talk with the Keeper at once. This must not wait. And later we’ll talk about you keeping the dreams out again, you hear me, brother?”

Sighing heavily, the boy nods and returns to the fire pit, while Revas and I set out to wake up the others.

 

As we’ve expected, not everyone is ready to believe the words of the twelve years old student blindly, especially not Samhal, who protests audibly, arguing that the boy could’ve just heard a key phrase somewhere and came up with a story to distract Keeper’s attention from his not so impressive academic success. I feel the rage starting to build up in my chest like fire and lower my eyes, trying to hide my contempt towards the man from the Keeper. Samhal is an outsider, he’s come to Sulahn'nan from Mahariel clan, spent too much time of his life outside of our small community and, after listening to other people's legends, is suspicious of the legacy of past times that we believe in. He is vary and uptight, but a good hunter, so I have to tolerate his presence. Still, we both know, that I’m better than him with my arrows, so when a low growl escapes my throat, he backs down a little. 

Fortunately for me and unfortunately for him, Keeper Enasalin believes his grandson, although it’s evident he’s clearly unhappy that his pupil kept him out on the matter of his dreams much like seven years before. Burning sylvans did happen in Wending Wood in the end, we just happened to be in the other part of Thedas at that time. After Revas says that a strange vision comes to our brother for three nights already, the Keeper gives us his command to move out immediately, so after an hour a small group consisting of me, Revas, Lyndel, Maven and two swordsmen leaves the camp in search of the ruins.

 

The darkness lying upon the forest is impenetrable, but we follow animal trail without disturbing the nature and making a sound.  Revas magically extinguishes all cracking noises that our yet untrained relative produces tripping over the roots. When thick crown of trees closes over us, depriving our eyes from thin moonlight, brother's staff begins to radiate a very weak greenish glow, which, however, is sufficient for us not to confuse hazelnut bushes with a bear. 

We move slowly, but the closer we get to the burial site, the stranger the forest seems to become: trees grow much closer to each other, in some places almost intertwining and fusing together into one unapproachable wall and we have to squeeze into narrow cracks between the trunks. All the while, stone debris that remind me of the surface of shemlen roads appear from the ground under our feet now and again.

“This forest’s been grown with magic.” Revas confirms my suspicions, gently pulling out a thorn from the tip of his braid. “There’s a strong spell ahead, but very ancient. It’s almost crumbling by now.”

My hands automatically reach out to the quiver and I have to make an effort to stop myself from bolting forward, when brother asks Maven for directions. She just shakes her head.

“It isn’t far. We won’t wander for long.” 

With a hint of surprise I notice that the surrounding area is much lighter now and first rays of dawning sun have already broken through thick branches. Just how much time we’ve been walking?

“Watch out!” Lyndel points out forward with his finger, where a clearing can be seen behind the thinning bushes. When we creep closer, I can see that it’s covered with the same stone fragments, and in its center a large crumpled statue of Fen'Harel is barely visible, hidden under overgrown grass along with a half-buried entrance to the ruins.

 

In the warm light of the morning sun the place seems unreal, just like pictures that Irasen brought from shemlen cities, but indignantly croaking crows that are clearly dissatisfied with our intrusion break the charm and we come closer, looking into the dark opening of the crypt.

"Do we have to go down?" Maven nervously brushes back her red hair and I understand her doubts. Firstly, I have no interest in breaching Falon'Din's grounds. Secondly, it’s not clear whether there’re any disgusting creatures who love dark abandoned cellars, like spiders or spirits. I don’t know what would be worse. Truth be told, I don’t trust magic, even though I may trust a couple of mages. There’s the difference, you see, I just can’t explain it. Still, the idea of going down bothers me quite some. 

"There's magic there. Ancient. It’s…” Revas stares at us in disbelief. “It's calling. We must go down.” 

He cautiously comes to the rubble and waving his staff makes the stone return to its proper place, recreating an intricate archway. With one more movement of his hand, he lights up the torch, which must have been under a blockage the whole time. It blinks with a firework of blinding sparkles and immediately starts glowing with a bluish-green light.

"Let’s go then." Checking the bow and quiver for the last time, I take the torch from brother's hands and begin squeezing through the narrow passage. After a couple of steps, the stone already isn’t so sharply pressing on my shoulders so I and then the rest of the group find ourselves in a spacious hall decorated with cracked mosaics.

Taking a closer look, I barely manage to distinguish the figure of a man in a wolf like attire touching the faces of other elves, then he seems to be passing through mirrors. The last mosaic placed in front of the corridor that leads into absolute darkness is  almost completely broken. Revas is standing beside me, pointing out schematic images of Dirtamen, June and Sylaise on the left and what seems to be Mythal enclosed in fire on the right. I try to remember what legend this might be, but Maven is already pushing me further and we leave the hall.

 

After a few more far worse preserved halls and narrow corridors we find ourselves at a dead end. While I tap the wall, trying to understand if there is anything behind it, the First whispers something and touches an inconspicuous image of the wolf on the left wall with his staff.

"In revas var sulivin." Lyndel closes his eyes and whispers again, swaying strangely on his feet. "In revas var sulevin."

His gift is still very weak and undeveloped, but a wave of magic, as if it’s been waiting for these words, envelops my brother and something bursts behind the wall with a crunch. The stone settles before us in a cloud of dust, while Keeper's student, already back to his normal self, shakes his head, stunned. No sound escapes from the gaping darkness of the space before us and gently stepping on the dirty floor we enter the small room. Surprised gasps of fellow clansmen echo from behind me, but they can’t distract my attention from the motionless figure lying on a low stone pedestal.

 

"Ma uthenera ten," I say in a hoarse whisper, coming closer to the body. It turns out to be a man, elf, not older than thirty by his looks. How many years has he been here? Suddenly, his eyes flutter open and for a moment all I see in the white veil is my reflection. Short white hair is disheveled and looks much like a crow's nest, the nose and right cheek are smeared in the dust, hiding part of the light lines of my vallaslin, and my own bright green eyes are full of wonder. But suddenly the spell is broken and his gaze becomes conscious and so ...surprised?

"Vhenan?" His voice sounds just like the grinding of ungreased aravel wheels and a strange pronunciation distracts me for a second. Has he confused me with someone? Realizing that what is happening has gone beyond the reasonable long ago, I still hope to give the situation at least a semblance of normality and decide to introduce myself.

“Aneth ara. My name is Tau of Sulahn'nan clan. Welcome back, hahren.”

Something changes in his gaze and now he looks at me as if he saw a ghost. I don’t know what I did wrong, but still I step back, just in case, only now noticing a staff that lies on the very edge of the pedestal on the other side of the man.  _ An ancient mage, wonderful.  If legends don’t lie, then he may as well be even Fen'Harel himself. Good job, Tau, you’re always end up in the most bizarre situations! _ It is better not to anger him, that’s I know for sure.

A rustle comes from behind me, making me even more edgy than I thought was possible.  _ Ah, this is Revas _ , he walks closer, watching a strange elf intently, but the man doesn’t take his studying look away from me. Another moment brings another change: slowly, as if the body isn’t obeying him, the man tries to sit up, gently pushing up from the stone. He doesn’t manage it in the first try though, but he surely isn’t even paying attention to his shaking elbows. In grinding voice he asks me something again, but I hardly catch the familiar words, bitterly realizing: here he is, the last carrier of our language alive despite the ages. What will happen to him when he learns about the fate of his people?

This thought finally breaks the dam of my fears and apprehension and I gently stretch out my hand to help him sit up. He takes it without a doubt and I wonder, what will we do from now. Even if he were three times as magical and godly as our legends depict him, still no one could be ready for what he is to see. I hope, when we learn to understand each other, he will be glad at least that he was found and woken up by the members of, perhaps, the only clan that does not consider Fen'Harel as a pure evil.

 

He holds my hand, squeezing it unpredictably hard and says something else, a few more phrases, from which I barely understand that he asks who I am. Touching my chest with the open palm of a free hand, I repeat,

"Tau." I circle the clanmates, who warily watch the exchange from behind me, "Sulahn'nan." 

He nods, frowns at the sudden movement and touches his own chest.

“Solas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you liked it, please drop some feedback in the comments!


End file.
